


Gods and Strangers: The Mercy of Venus

by Biokiri



Series: Gods and Strangers [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (half)Indian!Hari Potter, Compartmentalization, Disassociation, F/M, Gen, Semi-Amnesia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Will edit chapters as writing pans out, child neglect/abandonment, implied and graphic child abuse, implied/potentially graphic spousal abuse, induced amnesia, religious abuse/religious radicalism, using religion as an excuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biokiri/pseuds/Biokiri
Summary: Hari's first year at Hogwarts, because everyone starts somewhere.(Or rather, in which Dumbledore gets quite cozy as a King, asking Tom may be technically cheating, and Hari makes some friends.)





	Gods and Strangers: The Mercy of Venus

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of child abuse (explicitly, burning), brief description of panic attacks, unhealthy coping mechanisms (explicitly, disassociation/compartmentalization).
> 
> Other Notes: Will feature Universe Alterations (such as POC characters, SAGA/LGBT characters, Houseswaps, Original Characters, etc)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations, nor am I JKRowling. I am a poor ass college student who writes fanfiction. Yes, The beginnings of Mercury's Message and the sequel (this will be around a 10 book series) will be heavily based off the books in some areas, and then venture far, far away from them.

Out of the Frying Pan

(or rather, Into the Fire)

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July._

_Yours Sincerely,_

Deputy Headmistress

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hari read through the letter, thoughts filled with wonder swirling hopefully in his mind. Faintly, he knew he had nicked it from the mailbox yesterday….but hadn’t he not ever been allowed near the mail? His head was absolutely _pounding_. The last thing he remembered was— _was?_

_You know,” she began. “I read the other day that a mother had put her child up on the stove for misbehaving. The papers called her all sorts of nasty names, but she was a brilliant woman. She got the brat to **behave**. I just don't see why you can't **behave** and be a good boy, **darling**.”—_

— _Small, blue-orange flames rose behind her and Hari knew he was in hell_ —

— _Hari could feel the flames beginning to lick at the baby-fine hairs along his arm and desperately jerked his body away. It only earned him a backhanded slap to the face and a rather vicious slamming of his arm onto the lit gas-plate of the stove_ —

_—Hari **screamed**. He screamed as he felt the flesh of his arms being pulled to tightly and burned away, crackling like shattered glass—_

Then everything went hazy, as if trying to look at something through the expensive sheets Ms. Petunia kept on all the beds. He tried bringing his right arm up to his face, only to hiss at the _painpainpainpain_ that radiated through it at the slightest jostle. He looked down, surprised to see his arm wrapped heavily in muggle gauze with a distinct smell emanating from it.

But wasn’t that _months_ ago? Shouldn’t his magic of healed him by now?

He tried to remember past the stove incident, but everything swirled together with the smell of strong disinfectant. Perhaps it _wasn’t_ months ago, but that would mean…that would mean—

 _Oh God_. He had sent Ms. Petunia to the hospital. Maybe it hadn't of been months ago. It would explain why his arm hadn’t healed, and why he wasn’t currently being ripped apart by the Dursleys. He had probably been locked in his cupboard as soon as they were able to pull him out of the ER, right?

Well, judging by his arm, Ms. Petunia couldn’t be very well off either. That gave him, at the very least, another week and a half to fight hunger pains and pick through what wouldn’t be noticed. 

Hari began to run his left hand along his right arm, causing opaque bubbles in shades of deep green to pop along it. He was starting to test out his fingers, flexing them gently, when he heard the front door slam shut. He could hear Vernon lumbering through the entryway, cursing about _sleeping your way to the top._

Everything stilled. Hari drew his magic back into himself, as far as it would go, as if they would be able to sense it. He held his good hand over his mouth and tried to force himself to breath normally through the quivers raking his body.

_Calmdowncalmdowncalmdow—_

_‘Telling yourself.....to calm down…..will only…..make you panic…..more.’_

_Tom_. Hari couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his companion’s voice. He could barely feel the scales against the inside of his head, as if there was some sort of foreign, filmy barrier inside of him. It almost felt like his Occlumency shields, but he had never seperated the two of them in such a way. 

_‘Tom, I’m scared.’_

He never received an answer. Or at least if he did, he couldn’t hear it over the sudden beating against his door.

_“ **Freak**! The house is **filthy**!”_

Hari was terrified Mr. Vernon would break the door down with the way the sides of the frame began to crack. It was only moments before the locks _snikt_ from their place and he was pressing himself in the furthest corner away from Vernon’s meaty hands.

“My—my arm,” he tried, but he knew it was futile when Vernon had pressed himself as close to the frame as he could and tore Hari out by his good arm.

“I don’t give a _damn_ about your arm, _boy_.” Unpleasant, warm puffs of air hit against Hari’s face. He forced himself not to gag at the bitter, sour smell that assaulted his nose.

“If the house isn’t clean by the time my children are let out from school, I’ll break your _other_ arm and make you _wish_ ‘Tuney had dealt with you.”

Vernon squeezed so tightly Hari feared he’d snap it anyway. Hari nodded hurriedly, gritting his teeth at the pain.

He could do this, he’d done it before. Of course, he’d had both arms before, but he would make do.

He had to.

Vernon flung Hari from the cupboard into the nearest wall, releasing Hari’s arm and crouching as close as he could physically get.

“I want the floors done. The stairs, the drapes, the kitchen, the laundry, and the dusting. If you miss _anything_ , I’ll strap you to that goddamn stove.”

He lumbered away, wiping the hand that had touched Hari onto the expensive vest he wore. Hari mustered a glare and threw it at the large man’s back. He knew it would end up somewhere on the floor for him to find, later.

_‘T—tom?’_

He forced himself up, half-zoning out so he could prod at the areas he knew Tom usually ‘touched’. He tried trailing his fingers along his mindscape, but all he could feel was that _barrier_. It felt more gelatinous now, as if he was trying to put his fingers through congealed molasses. He could sense Tom behind it—inside of it? But couldn’t feel an area for him to escape.

He would have to focus on it another time. It was already 2-p.m. he had less than three hours to straighten up the house, and he was going to have to do so physically while stretching his magic _and_ avoiding getting caught by Vernon.

Wonderful.

He gave one last feel-around to the barrier when it gave him an idea. Tom had said that Occlumency shields had layers, and that the more layers one had the better. So far, Harry had just imagine holding everything in a metallic ball, forcing it as small as he could imagine inside a vast nothingness. Maybe he could make more inside?

He imagined fighting his way through the molasses and came through to the less-outer recesses of his mind. It glimmered like the pictures of space he had been able to catch glimpses of, and he focused on the ‘star’ he needed. He began enlarging his shield, watching it burst like an animated supernova in a sea of stars. He slipped along through it and was almost overwhelmed by the amount of _fearworrypainsangersadscaredTom?_ that assaulted him. He wanted to close it back up and never think about his ball _ever_ again—he’d thought his feelings were overpowering before!

 _No_. He needed to do this. If he couldn’t get himself under control then he was putting himself in more danger. He was putting _Tom_ in more danger, and that was something he wouldn’t allow.

Hari took a deep breath and steadied himself against the wall he had been slammed against and allowed his feet to automatically walk him to the cleaning cupboard to fetch the broom. Each physical step helped him take a mental step further into the jumble that was his feelings. 

Could he just….. _pull_ some of that stuff from his outer layers? He tried, picturing his mental reach going back to the encapsule around his space and tearing a bit off, giving him something to work with. He was positively giddy when he realized it had worked, nearly ramming into one of Ms. Petunia’s fancy display tables.

He worked it in his mental equivalent of hands as his physical ones carefully measured out the amount of cleaner he poured into the sickly yellow bucket to be put near the sink. It actually _felt_ like something. It felt as real as Tom’s scales felt.

It was thick, almost like clay, but stuck to him in a way that made him uneasy. He tried to stretch it—to make it multiply on itself—and was half-terrified when it did as he told it to. He paste it against the metallic walls of his first _(technically second)_ self-erected shield, and let it grow, completely encasing the walls, covered every bit of metal until the room shone a dim grey-brown colour.

He stuck his hand out and was pleased when it was definitely thicker than the outermost one. It made sense, Hari supposed. He was purposefully feeding his magic into _this_ barrier, while the other one had his magic attempting to _eat it_.

Now came the harder part. Trying to visualize each emotion as something physical proved quite difficult to actually do. Perhaps he could do it one at a time?

He took the most immediate one—his fear. He molded it into an image that seemed to fit: it looked like a mannequin his size, with oversized, overly sharp instruments stabbing through its body at odd angles. It moved like it was broken, with jerking movements and limbs that seemed to stick out _wrong_

__

It began crawling at him, lunged with fingers that had razors strewn through them instead of having fingernails. Hari doubled over as his mental self was attacked, knocking over the bin he had just emptied the dustpan into. He could _feel_ every cut that racked through his mind as if that _thing_ had dug into his physical skin instead. 

__

__

He bent down to begin picking up the larger pieces of rubbish when he felt its razors digging into him. He could feel every blade wriggling inside wounds he knew weren’t there. Was this his fault? He couldn’t face it now, he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

__

__

He braced his hands against the floor and forced himself back into his mindscape. The _creature_ was clawing at the viscus walls, getting partially trapped and tearing itself out.

__

__

_Ah. That_ was what was causing Hari so much pain. Maybe he didn’t have to dismantle it…maybe he could just push it? He waited until it had just sunk its hand back into the wall and took notice of him.

__

__

It would hurt. _Gods_ it was going to hurt.

__

__

Hari rammed at it with everything he had, his magic barreling against it. He could feel its razors digging into him, like a thousand needles concentrated in each area, trying to pry him open. Then, it did the one thing he had least expected.

__

__

It _screamed_. Hari hadn’t thought it possible. It didn’t have a mouth, but sure enough there was shrieking reverberating around his skull, _begging_ for him to stop.

__

__

Hari persisted.

__

__

The creature sunk into the mass slowly, writhing and struggling and _clawing_ at anything, trying to find purchase to pull itself out. Hari almost pitied it, but knew that would mean pitying himself.

__

__

When the thing was fully immersed, Hari let himself breath. He blinked once, twice, and focused on the polished wood he had littered with rubbish. He took deep, steadying breaths, and began to sweep once more.

__

__

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

__

__

Hari was _exhausted_. After the mental beating he had taken from himself, he had to resort to stretching his magic throughout the house under Vernon’s nose to make up for the time he had lost.

__

__

He had to transfigure garbage into small brooms and _make_ them sweep throughout the house, his magic _eating_ anything he was supposed to clean up. He had to keep the sink on and continue to siphon out cleaner so he could try his hand at _Hydromancy_ and mop the floors without touching them. He even had to charm the dishes to help do themselves!

__

__

He had wasted thirty minutes fighting that _thing_ , and it took nearly a whole other hour to finish the floors and the kitchen. Another half hour allowed him halfway through the laundry; frantically trying to force the washing machine and the dryer to go faster, switching loads, folding what he could get away with. He was busy ironing Mr. Vernon’s shirts for work and those of Ms. Petunia’s he knew he couldn’t get away with when he heard it.

__

__

He knew he’d never be able to finish in time. Still, Hari couldn’t help the tensing of his shoulders, or the dread that crept down his spine, when he heard the clock chime an upbeat tune to signal it was thirty-after-four.

__

__

The exact time Dudley would be released from school. He had ten minutes from Petunia driving Eunice and Mildred from the nearest park to _Southwest Bridge Secondary School_ , where Dudley attended. Then he had another fifteen-to-twenty, waiting for Petunia to actually pick him up and drive everyone home.

__

__

A total of roughly twenty-five minutes. Thirty if he was lucky. To finish Mr. and Mrs. Dursleys’ clothes, put them away, begin on the children’s and put _those_ away, and clean the draperies.

__

__

He was barely half-done with the first task on his ‘left to-do’ list. He knew he couldn’t stretch his magic out for much longer; He’d never stretched it so far, he was already dreadfully exhausted, and despite the grip he seemed to of acquired his magic still felt predatorily untamed.

__

__

Lumbering steps made the upper floor creak. Hari knew why—he had failed Mr. Vernon. When he heard the stairs beginning to moan under the weight they could barely handle, Hari stopped ironing. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t force himself to move. Each step closer seemed to cut off his breath. When he could hear Vernon’s heavy gasps, he swore he would vomit up his stomach.

__

__

_“Freak.”_

__

__

Hari could hear Vernon just outside the door, against the opposing wall. He couldn’t stop the trembling, or the way his bladder seemed to fill at the calm in Vernon’s voice. He sounded too much like Ms. Petunia.

__

__

A beefy hand laid too gently on his shoulder.

__

__

“I ask for _one_ thing— _one fucking thing_ —and you can’t even accomplish that. I don’t know why we even _keep_ you.” The grip on Hari slowly tightened, until short, uneven fingernails had dug themselves into him through the flimsy material Ms. Petunia claimed was a shirt.

__

__

Breath tickled the back of his throat, uncomfortably hot. Hair that felt more like sandpaper scratched up against him as Vernon pushed himself onto Hari.

__

__

“Looks like someone needs to learn their lesson, eh?”

__

__

And Hari was shoved forward, his good arm grazing up the side of the iron as everything tumbled onto the floor. His entire body recoiled from the sharp heat, curling around his injured hand.

__

__

He prayed to God that all Vernon would do would be to stomp on him, maybe kick him a few times. He even reached out to Tom, against all logic, and begged him for help.

__

__

There was no answer on either account. No voices in his head. No mental sensations, or the metaphysical brushes against his skin Tom often used to comfort him.

__

__

He was alone again.

__

__

Hari was _thankful_ when thick-soled shoes brought themselves down on him. Each hit as rapid as Vernon could bring himself to be, targeting the side of Hari’s ribcage. He was _thankful_ when Vernon kicked him, the points of his shoes seemingly digging into each vertebrae of his spine. Every crunch and bruise was _welcome_ , as long as it was the peak of his punishment.

__

__

He should of known better. It was always foolish to hope, to pray. God didn’t listen to freaks like him.

__

__

_‘Stupid, just like your whore mother.’ /em > Ms. Petunia’s voice rang out through his mind. Her sneer was as clear as if she had been next to him._

____

____

When pointed leather shoes stopped kicking him Hari bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making noise. Even though he was excellent at staying silent, sometimes he forgot Ms. Petunia liked to be thanked for being lenient, while Mr. Vernon didn’t like any sort of addressment.

____

____

Hari didn’t like the way Vernon was simply standing there, thinking. He relished in each heavy breath Vernon took, grateful for once how heavy set the man was. He immediately regret his gratitude when he caught Vernon in the corner of his eye, picking up the iron that had fell onto its side.

____

____

“Tuney’s too soft on you, I say.” Vernon’s voice was disappointed. “The only time I’ve seen her really get after you, you _burned_ her. Rejected her authority. You know what the bible says about that?”

____

____

He cleared his throat and whispered, almost reverently, as he clicked the iron up to the highest setting.

____

____

_“Everyone must submit to governing authorities. For all authority comes from God, and have been placed there by God. So anyone who rebels against authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and they will be punished. For the authorities do not strike people who are doing right, but in those who are doing wrong.But if you are doing wrong, you should be afraid, for they have the power to punish you. They are God’s servants, sent for the very purpose of punishing those who do what is wrong._ —Romans thirteen.”

____

____

And then Hari was wrenched up by his good arm and pinned against the wall.

____

____

“You see, _freak_ , I’m doing _God’s_ work. Petunia is doing _God’s_ work. God _hates_ freaks like you, and we are trying to _save your soul_.” Vernon’s breath was acidic in his face, smelling like the cheap cans Ms. Petunia always hit her husband with when she found them.

____

____

Then all Hari could focus on was the feeling of his already burnt flesh bubbling under the iron pressed against his shoulder. He screamed, and promptly had his head knocked against the wall. His head jerked, and so did the iron. Blearily, he watched as patches of sticky, now-black gauze and sizzling skin stuck to the metal plate, intermingled with strips of burning cloth. It was pressed back on him, overlaying a mirror image on the fresh wound, and Hari could only let tears leak from his eyes.

____

____

Vernon pulled the iron off of him once more and let it drop of top of Hari’s foot, who flinched back, knocking himself roughly against the wall. His gaze rested on the doorframe, where he saw a horrified Dudley staring at him. He must of been mistaken by wetness in his own eyes for the dark colouring surrounding Dudley’s.

____

____

Vernon forced him back up by his throat, the V of his hand closing in under Hari’s neck, effectively starting to cut off his oxygen.

____

____

“Finish it up, or you’ll wish this was all I’d done to you.” He dropped Hari back on top of the iron and lumbered back out of the room.

____

____

All Hari could think of was that he was grateful he focused all the magic he felt be had left to shield himself from the last brunt of the iron. But he could feel is beginning to fade, an uncomfortable warmth that was evolving into a prickling heat under his leg. He rolled off it, and stiffened when he felt a thick hand on his back.

____

____

“H—Hari?”

____

____

It was _Dudley._

____

____

“Har-Hari, can—can you stan—can you stand?” He sounded unsure, afriad, and Hari felt like that tone should've reminded him of someone. 

____

____

_Hari found this to be very familiar to him, and realized why; Hari adopted this look when he was afraid—_

____

____

He clawed at his head, cracked fingernails scratching carelessly along his scar. He could feel the molasses-like gel inside his head blistering, expanding, bursting and sticking to everything inside his head it caught on.

____

____

Why was it getting so hard to think?

____

____

He was brought back by the same hand that had startled him, now gently, hesitantly, rubbing his back.

____

____

“It’s—well it isn't—it _isn’t_ okay, but—but It’s—it’s ov-over now...” Hari supposed Dudley was trying to be reassuring, but all it did was cause him to tense further and begin shaking. Was this a new trick? A new version of _Hari Hunting_? Or perhaps had Dudley’s parents roped him into trying to get Hari to misbehave? To forget himself?

____

____

“Jesus—fuck—I’m—I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean—“

____

____

Dudley ripped his arm away from Hari as if he had been the one burned. Hari, however, had ceased quivering altogether, barely paying attention to Dudley’s stuttering attempts of apologies.

____

____

Dudley _never_ cursed. The first _(and up until now, last)_ time Hari had ever heard him curse, Ms. Petunia had slapped him so hard she had left gouges in Dudley’s cheek. One of her nails had chipped because of the impact, and she had drug Dudley away to punish him for _ruining her manicure._

____

____

This was new territory. Hari wasn’t sure if he liked it.

____

____

“I just—I just wanted—I _needed_ —to make sure you’re okay.”

____

____

__That was certainly a new one. He’d heard everything from_ ‘Piers wanted to see if I could,’_ to _‘Dad said you did it again.’_ If he was trying to appeal to Hari’s compassion, he was doing a pretty piss-poor job.

Dudley fisted short fingers in his hair. His words were muddled, too low and too frenzied for Hari to make any sense of. He almost felt uncomfortable, watching Dudley’s eyes squeeze shut, his body beginning to shake much like Hari’s did, wet noises coming from his nose. He was pulling on his hair so hard Hari feared no matter how short it was that Dudley would rip most of it out.

But then whatever had taken over Dudley had passed. His face twisted in frustration. His fingers unknit themselves from his hair to ball at his sides. The wet undertone of his breathing was being forcefully stopped.

“Nevermind, _freak_.”

A foot hesitated right above the seeping wound on Hari’s shoulder, before it was drawn back with the toe jabbing into the sore. Hari’s body was forcibly turned with the brunt of the attack. His back slammed against the cold floor so hard he swore he could feel his shoulder blades splinter. 

And then Dudley was gone. 

And everything was quiet.

And Hari was left on the floor. 

_‘Tom?’_ He could feel the pinpricks of fear rattling around his skull, as if someone were tossing around broken glass. The thing was trying to get out. Hari didn’t let it.

 _‘Tom?’_ Hari tried again. He was met with silence and with muted, slug-feeling motions around in his head. He didn’t feel like trying again. Maybe Tom was disappointed with him? The thought burned inside his chest almost as bad as the iron had. 

The clock chimed again; another seventeen times in another ridiculously happy tune. That meant it was five already, and Hari still hadn’t finished laundry. _That_ meant Hari was likely to be punished again if he didn’t get up soon.

He was careful to roll onto his left side. Inhaling sharply and bracing himself with his good arm, he slid one knee under his body one at a time. He didn’t think he’d be able to put much, if any, pressure on his right side. 

Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be too much blood besides the slow-growing puddle beneath him. One less thing to clean.

Hari tried to push himself up, but fell against the wall on his right side. White stars exploded in his vision— _shouldn’t they of been there before?_ —and his head thrummed in tandem with his heart. Groaning, Hari fought not to fall back onto his knees or, worse, his abdomen. There were still baskets of clothes left, and he knew before he was able to finish with them he was going to have to heal himself first. He closed his eyes and tried to feel out towards his core. It would be hard, and he might not be able to do as good a job as he wanted to, but there wasn’t another valid option. 

How surprising when Hari reached out, and there was nearly nothing there. It felt like a spider’s nest; tendrils of magic stretched in all directions of his body, almost all of them focused on sticking to other areas infected with the barrier and seeping through it.

What _was_ that thing? It was still holding his panic in a thick, gelatinous prison, but Hari almost feared what else it was keeping captive. He could feel the pulsing in his head of his fear trying to escape, desperately clawing and almost at the surface as he realized that his magic wasn’t seeping through the barrier—the barrier was _eating it._

Sickly grey brown dripped down the threads of his magic, keeping it concealed inside of itself. Absently fascinated, Hari watched as each time it fell on a new string his magic would branch out with miniscule tendrils, trying to attack, only to be trapped the instant it touched the barrier.

He reached out desperately to feel him magic, relieved when he found out it wasn’t _gone_ from him. He could still use it...it was just a lot, _lot_ , harder to free it from the barrier. It didn’t help that each time he wasn’t using his magic, the gel would simply re-swallow it with vigor. 

He didn’t think he had the energy left to try to heal himself. He was just going to have to make due.

Each switchover was a nightmare. Every set to fold was torture. But the hardest thing to do was to make sure not to jostle his arm too much, and not to leave any stains or drops on the fresh linens from his burns. It took close to an hour for the last load to be dried and folded, and Hari was met with another problem: How was he supposed to put up everything when he could barely lift his hand past his hipline? 

It didn’t matter. He’d have to find a way to do it, regardless.

Going upstairs was less difficult than keeping the overpiled basket balanced on his hip. Figuring out how to open door handles that were over his elbow was a feat within itself, but the real challenge was going about hanging up what needed to be, and putting away everything else. He set the basket on the bed, careful to not leave wrinkles, and started pulling hangers down from the walk in closet.

Then he felt it.

_Magic._

It was faint and dull and non-sentient, but it was _there_. It was imbued in the hangers, perhaps from the constant exposure to Hari’s, but _it was there_.

He reached out much like he reached for water for hydromancy, connecting his mind to the already-existing magic instead of trying to use just his own. It didn’t seem like his magic at all—sharp and bitter and angry. It was probably from being under Ms. Petunia and Mr. Vernon’s influence for so long. In any case, it made hanging up everything a hell of a lot easier. The hangers couldn’t float, but they could work themselves inside the clothes that Hari laid them on, and the drawers just took a quick tug to open and push to close from his mind.

He was done quicker than the time he allowed himself _(even without the leeway for his injuries)_. He could possibly finish the drapes, as long as they had the same imprint left in them, but would his body hold out? Already, the strain of lifting, even light clothes, was pulling on his bruised ribs. But how much worse would it be if he didn’t get it done?

There was a small, dim prod against his mental shields. It was quick, like a jab, and would of gone unnoticed if not for the acute awareness Hari had of the silence in his head.

 _‘Tom?’_

Each second after seemed like an eternity. He could hear the ticking of the clock in the distance, taunting him. It was several long minutes later that Hari knew he wouldn’t be receiving a response any time soon.

The gel in his head pulsed. He shouldn't be getting so worked up; it wasn’t helping him any. He should just focus on getting back to his cupboard and trying to heal himself. Try to keep himself out of more trouble.

It was a slow trek back to his cupboard. The walls and the floor seemed to drag on forever, punctuated by periods of blacking out. He leaned against his door, his hand fiddling with the knob. Once it was open, he collapsed inside. He didn’t have enough energy to curl his body in the cupboard entirely, let alone close the door behind him.

He’d have to deal with that tomorrow. For now, he was going to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy guys. Y'know what they say, right? The only way to tell if you're a writer is if you haven't written in forever.*finger guns*. Anyway, I'm looking for a Beta/Muse for this and potentially other works? HMU if you/re interested or just wanna talk! My info is in my bio<3  
> Also, guess which bitch passed his finals with flying colours? This bitch right here.
> 
> Also I said I’d poll so here’s a poll:  
> Fixed snape (not “justified abuse. Legit fixed snape)  
> Or keep snape bad? 
> 
> Tbh i was planning fixed but if enough people want bad snape i could work it in


End file.
